


Pick Ups

by alynwa



Series: Picfic Tuesday Challenge [62]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-08
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2018-01-18 16:51:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1435729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alynwa/pseuds/alynwa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon and Illya must retrieve a package left by a courier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick Ups

 

The rubber dinghy approached a stretch of water approximately two hundred yards from the western end of Tortola in the British Virgin Islands. There were two occupants; Napoleon Solo who was expertly navigating the waves so that the boat was sliding over them instead of slapping them and Illya Kuryakin who was checking his SCUBA gear while trying not to get too seasick.

They had been at the restaurant that overlooks the channel between Tortola and an uninhabited island two hours earlier watching people jump off a tour boat and snorkel the area looking at the myriad species of tropical fish and the coral reefs below them. They saw the man who was their courier enter the water and dive underneath the surface. He surfaced just over a minute later.

“How deep is the water over there, Illya?” the brunet had asked.

“Approximately thirty – five feet. I just need to retrieve the package from under a piece of purple brain coral.”

“How will you…?”

“There is only one purple brain coral in that immediate area.”

They arrived at the snorkeling location and dropped anchor. They relaxed in the dinghy, ostensibly enjoying the sunshine and gentle rocking of the waves, but what they were really doing was checking to see if their stopping there had attracted any attention. It was also giving the Russian a chance to calm his stomach.

When he was feeling like himself again, Illya slipped his oxygen tank on and began to put on his flippers.

Napoleon looked down; the water was so clear that he could see the bottom. Nervously he asked, “Are you going to be alright down there?”

“Of course,” Illya snorted, “I will have my spear gun. I will be fine; you’ll be able to watch me if you like.” He put on his mask, inserted his mouthpiece, took a couple of breaths to make sure all was as it should be and then gave a “thumbs up” sign before falling backwards off the side.

Napoleon watched his partner glide gracefully toward the bottom. _It is so weird how I’m comfortable on the water in a boat and he’s comfortable_ in _the water while I’m scared to be in the water and he’s seasick almost from the second he gets in a boat. How did the Old Man know we would complement…_

His musings were interrupted by the realization that a boat had backed off a mooring in Tortola and was heading straight towards him. He noted there were two men onboard and his mind raced as he tried to think of a strategy. He didn’t think anyone had seen Illya slip into the water so he decided to take a chance and not fire. _If I fire, that will draw too much attention from the shore and if I’m shot, they’ll look around to see what I was trying to defend and they’ll see Illya. That can’t happen._

It didn’t take long for the skiff to pull up alongside him. He held up a beer and plastered a smile on his face. “Hey, mon! Beautiful day, huh? Want a beer?”

One of the men smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Maybe later. Right now, we’re curious as to why you chose this spot to drop anchor.”

“Why not? It’s a nice place! Look around, what’s not to like?” Napoleon had put on an affect that he hoped relayed to the men that he had been drinking and was harmless. He was gesturing broadly and moving unsteadily in his dinghy, causing the men to focus their attention on him. “Sure you don’t want a beer?”

The two men looked at each other. “What do you think?” the larger one asked his companion.

“I think we should accept this man’s beer and relax.” He held out his right hand to Napoleon. “My name is Arturo and this is Rojelio.”

Napoleon shook both men’s hands and replied, “Name’s Navarre. Pleased to meet you.” He tossed two beers over to them, opened a beer for himself and then sat down. Arturo tossed a line over so that Napoleon could tether their boats together. The boats had floated so that Napoleon was facing the uninhabited island. He was relieved to see Illya come ashore and take cover behind a large bush. _He must have seen the other boat! Smart Russian; assess the situation before making his presence known._

The three men chatted amiably for awhile and Napoleon was starting to think that perhaps they weren’t a threat when he heard a motorboat’s engine in the distance heading their way. His eyes went in the direction of the sound and when he looked back, Arturo was pointing a gun at him. “Sorry, Navarre, you seem like a nice enough guy, but you wouldn’t leave and that’s my cocaine coming and my connections don’t like strangers.” He raised his gun to fire when he suddenly screamed in pain as a spear entered his thigh. Immediately, Napoleon pulled his gun and darted Rojelio and the wounded man. He swiftly unwrapped Arturo’s line from the dinghy’s cleat, started his engine and began to pull the anchor as he pointed the boat toward where Illya was still secluded.

He could tell from the approaching boat’s motor that it would be in sight in no more than two minutes. He got the anchor inside and sped up. The Russian waded out to meet him. Flipping himself into the boat, he held on as Napoleon hit the gas and whipped around the edge of the island and set a course for the US Virgin Islands.

Illya kept his eyes on the horizon to combat nausea and gasped out, “THRUSH?”

“No, drug smugglers. You’re pretty deadly with a spear gun, Tovarisch. Thanks. Did you find the package?”

The blond reached into his swim shorts and withdrew a small box. “It was right where it was supposed to be. I was about to surface when I saw another boat pull alongside you and I thought it best to swim to shore instead. Excuse me.” He leaned over the side and retched. “Must you, must you go so _fast?_ ”

“Sorry, Illya, but the faster we get to St. Thomas, the faster I can call the Coast Guard to intercept those smugglers. If nothing else, one of my drinking buddies needs medical attention, thanks to you.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining when I prevented him from shooting you,” the Russian snarled, “I will say that letting the Coast Guard handle things back there is the right thing to do. Mr. Waverly wants this information as soon as possible.”

“Glad you like the way I think, Partner Mine. I’ll have you on land in thirty minutes.”

Illya groaned, “Shut up and drive.”


End file.
